


second chances

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Series: nobody's leftovers [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, the other scoobies kinda make cameos here & there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 14:50:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10120490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: “Um, there’s a ghost who just showed up and she’s haunting the Magic Box. But she’s not a bad ghost. She’s just exasperating.”“I could be one hell of a lot more exasperating, so you watch it,” says the ghost from next to Anya.(au of s6. Jenny comes back, sort of.)





	

Anya is thoroughly irritated.

“You know,” she says, “it’s not impossible for you to not touch things when we have customers in the shop.”

“I was just trying to read,” the ghost shoots back, looking somewhat affronted. “And it’s a _magic_ shop. Why would customers be surprised by a book moving on its own? Are you running a novelty magic shop or the real thing?”

“Do _not,_ ” Anya says through gritted teeth, “insult this shop, or I swear I’ll exorcise you.”

“I’m pretty sure that won’t work,” says the ghost with a saccharine smile and turns another page. “Besides which, you seem like you could use the company.”

This is true, but Anya will be damned if she’ll let the ghost know it. “I have an overseas business partner,” she says. “He could come back any day now and keep me company in the shop. He’d probably tell you to go away. And you’d listen to _him._ ”

The ghost rolls her eyes. “Sure I would,” she says, voice dripping with sarcasm. She floats through the counter and through Anya, who shivers. “Look,” the ghost says, slightly apologetically, “I didn’t mean to be annoying. I’ve been tense.”

“Tense? You’re _dead._ ” Anya crosses her arms, turning to glower at the ghost, who’s now hovering on her left. “What the hell does a dead person have to be tense about?”

“You’d be surprised,” says the ghost.

The bell on the shop door rings and Buffy comes through. She’s still walking slower than Anya remembers, back from the grave and all that. “Hey,” she says a little tightly. Her eyes aren’t as sparkly as Anya remembers, either.

“Hello, Buffy!” says Anya brightly. She’s heard that cheeriness can improve the mood of others, and sad Buffy means sad everyone else, because everyone else wants Buffy to be happy. _Everyone else_ , of course, mostly means Xander. _Everyone else_ always seems to mean Xander. “Are you here to buy or to look?”

“Neither,” Buffy replies.

“Hi,” says the ghost. Buffy doesn’t see or hear her. Anya hears the ghost’s irritated huff, and then a muttered, “Dead people should recognize dead people. There should be a thing about that.”

“What, is my company not enough for you?” Anya snaps, turning to glare at the ghost.

The ghost looks surprised, and then jerks her head towards a startled Buffy.

“Oh,” says Anya, turning back to Buffy. She hopes she isn’t blushing. It’s a newly human trait she’s acquired, and even after a little over two years, she is neither used to it nor appreciative of it. “Um, there’s a ghost who just showed up and she’s haunting the Magic Box. But she’s not a bad ghost. She’s just exasperating.”

“Right,” says Buffy with a confused frown.

“I could be one hell of a lot more exasperating, so you watch it,” says the ghost from next to Anya. “You could have been stuck with a poltergeist. Sunnydale High had one a few years back, and _that_ was a mess.”

“Fine.” Anya fixes the ghost with an irritable stare. “You’re decent, as ghosts go.”

“ _Thank_ you.” The ghost gives her a genuine grin.

Anya rarely makes people smile like that. Surprised, she smiles back.

“Are you sure it’s a ghost?” Buffy asks, sounding somewhat uneasy. “It could be something else.”

“Like a mental breakdown,” the ghost suggests, surprisingly nonchalantly for one who’s suggesting that they’re merely a figment of Anya’s imagination.

“I doubt it,” says Anya. “If I were having a mental breakdown, I think I’d have a more frightening ghost.”

“Fair enough,” says the ghost.

Buffy doesn’t look any less disturbed.

* * *

 

A few hours later they believe her, sure. The ghost carries a stack of books around the room with a very self-suffering expression on her face that only Anya can see, and then Willow and Tara do a ward spell while the ghost stands in the center of the room (she sneezes when Willow and Tara bring out the magic dust), and they conclude that there is definitely a ghost. Anya is a bit bitter that it takes Willow and Tara’s spell to convince everyone. When Buffy or Willow or Xander said there was a ghost, there was always a ghost. No question about it.

The ghost points out that actually, it seems reasonable that Anya would face the amount of questioning that she did when making baseless claims. Anya tells her to be quiet.

Then the Scooby meeting starts up and Anya decides to ignore most of it in favor of talking to the ghost. The ghost evades any actual questions Anya asks her about what her pre-death life was like, except for an insinuation that she once knew Willow.

“She’s grown up,” she says to Anya from where she’s sitting in what would look like an empty chair to the casual observer.

“Is that a good thing?” Anya replies, confused. “You make it sound bad.”

“Ahn, could you not talk to the ghost during the meeting?” Xander says in an almost exasperated fashion.

That annoys Anya. It isn’t _her_ fault they can’t see the ghost. “Wait, this is _important,_ ” she says dismissively, and turns back to the ghost.

The ghost sighs and runs a hand through her hair. Anya sometimes wonders what color it was when the ghost was alive. She’s not transparent, but she’s different hues of silver, and it’s impossible to tell what she looked like as a living, breathing human. It seems strange to ask. “She didn’t get enough training. Wasn’t there anyone who could have tried to teach her?”

“I thought Tara did a pretty good job of that,” Anya replies, confused.

“Tara’s a sweet girl, but Willow’s power surpasses hers,” says the ghost, sounding worried. She glances over at Tara. “All Willow’s heard from Tara is how good she is at what she does. And I’m so, so glad for her, because she deserves to hear that and believe it, but—” She stops.

“But?” Anya prompts. The other Scoobies have stopped listening to the conversation. This is what usually happens.

The ghost hesitates. “I’m worried about what happens if she decides she’s good enough to reshape the rules,” she says, and turns back to the table. “So. Research on the demon thing?”

“I don’t know if you can help with this,” says Anya as tactfully as she can. “You aren’t technically a Scooby, you know. No one else can see or hear you.”

“The tact thing kind of,” the ghost waves a hand, “went out the window after the ‘aren’t technically a Scooby’ part. But I’ll give you an A for effort.”

“You’d make a lousy teacher,” says Anya. “You should be grading on the quality of my work.”

The ghost laughs. “Just pass me a book,” she says. “I may not be a Scooby, but I do happen to be somewhat fond of helping save the world.”

“I mean, I don’t know if it’s really the _world_ so much as _Sunnydale,_ but hey, whatever works for you.” Anya finds a book and hands it to the ghost, who picks it up, leans back in the chair, and falls straight through it.

“Fucking  _hell_ ,” says the ghost from where she's now sprawled on the floor.

“Read books standing up, remember?” says Anya, looking down at the ghost. “You can’t focus on being material enough to sit and being material enough to read a book at the same time.”

“Someday I will,” the ghost says, sitting up on the floor and turning a page of the book, which is lying open on the ground. “I’m getting better at it, at any rate.”

“Sure,” says Anya.

“Can you pass me that?” Buffy asks, pointing to the book the ghost has gotten started on. The ghost fixes Buffy with a look that reminds Anya somewhat of an irate Giles. She wonders if the ghost is somehow related to him. After all, the ghost _is_ haunting his shop. That could mean something.

“Are you—” Anya begins, intending to inquire as to the ghost’s possible relation to Giles, but Buffy intervenes by clearing her throat loudly. “Oh,” she says awkwardly. “Sorry.” She takes the book away from the ghost, who utters a long-suffering sigh and is pissed off even after Anya finds her another book.

* * *

In that vein, the ghost _really_ likes complaining about things. Right now, she’s going off on a tangent about how bad the wifi in the Magic Box is.

“You know, it’s actually important to consider that in this day and age, making an online platform for the Magic Box—”

“I did that,” says Anya, who is counting the money. “Go away.”

“Okay, but see, _that’s my point,_ ” says the ghost, and actually comes closer to Anya, who is wondering if there is any way to shove an incorporeal being into a wall or something. “If you don’t have quality wifi in your shop, you don’t have the means to access and edit your platform. Not to mention that this antiquated system of keeping track of ingredients and products is so much slower than having an online database of items.”

“That’s Giles’s system,” says Anya, “and I don’t think he’ll be pleased if I change it.”

“Isn’t he off in England?” pushes the ghost.

“He doesn’t like computers,” Anya replies. “He’d be horrified if he came back and found his system had been replaced with a computerized database. Besides which, it seems like a lot of unnecessary work.”

“I could—”

“No,” says Anya, shutting the cash register and finally looking up at the ghost, “you could _not,_ especially given that you’ve only recently learned how to pick things up. Typing would be ridiculously hard for you and it would take very long and be very annoying to listen to.”   

“I feel so touched by your concern for my time,” the ghost quips.

Anya looks up at her. “You’re _dead,_ ” she points out. “You’ve got more time than the rest of us. I just don’t want lots of annoying slow typing in the store. It’s one of the worst sounds.”

To her surprise, the ghost actually laughs. “I get that,” she says. “I hated slow typers when I was alive. But that might have been—” She looks down, wiggles her fingers. “My boyfriend always used to say I had quick hands.”

Anya feels a strange twist of something in her stomach. A few years of being human, yet she still isn’t quite used to feeling sad for other people. What was the word? Empathy? Pity? “Where is he now?” she asks, hoping she doesn’t sound too awkward.

The ghost opens her mouth, a half-smile on her lips, and then she suddenly shuts it. “Not something I really feel like talking about,” she says stiffly.

“No, you just don’t want to talk about it with me,” Anya observes. She doesn’t feel upset, just confused. The ghost doesn’t overshare much anyway, and she’s learned not to take offense when the ghost decides she doesn’t want to talk. This doesn’t mean she doesn’t stop inquiring, however. “Do you know what happened to him, at least?”

The ghost looks kind of tired and sad all of a sudden. “Yeah,” she says. “He’s alive. I think he’s doing okay.”

“Do you think he’ll be able to see you if you two meet up?” Anya asks.

“Hmm?” The ghost suddenly seems a little spacey. Anya wonders if she’s still in love with this boyfriend guy. She wonders when the ghost died, and how, and why. The ghost never seems to talk about it.

“Your boyfriend,” says Anya. “Do you think he’ll be able to see you? I mean, I can see you, and we’re still not sure why it’s only me, but maybe he might too. True love and all that.”

“By that logic, I’m your true love,” says the ghost in amusement, “and while you’re cute, you aren’t exactly my type.”

“Your type?” Anya repeats, not sure whether or not to be insulted.

“I mean, you’re cute, but there’s a little bit of an age difference,” quips the ghost.

“It doesn’t seem to bother Xander,” Anya says huffily, forgetting for a moment that the ghost doesn’t know about Anyanka. Then something else hits her. “Wait, I thought you said you had a _boy_ friend?” she says, surprised.

“Yeah, well, I go both ways,” the ghost replies casually. “Never got the chance to tell him that. And he’s technically an ex,” she adds with clear sadness.

“I find that death never comes at a convenient time,” Anya informs the ghost in an attempt at comfort. “I’m sure you and he would have worked it out eventually.”

“I like to think that,” says the ghost.

* * *

 

Xander still hasn’t told anyone about the engagement, and he still isn’t letting Anya tell anyone about the engagement, and it’s leaving her with an unpleasant knot in her stomach that doesn’t seem to be going away. When he’s smiling at her, everything seems like it’s going to be okay, but his promises aren’t sounding as promising as the days go by and nothing changes.

She wishes something really, really bad would happen. Then they’d need happy news, and Xander would tell everyone that they were engaged, and they could start planning a wedding that would cheer everyone up. Or something like that. She doesn’t want a wedding in the wake of tragedy, but she really, _really_ wants a wedding, regardless of what it takes to spur Xander into action.

“When you love someone a lot, don’t you try and put them first?” Anya asks the ghost one day. “Like, let’s say you’re scared of doing something, but the person you love really wants it. Wouldn’t you try and do it for them, regardless of how nervous you are?”

The ghost is quiet, and then she replies, “I did.”

“And?” Anya prompts.

The ghost smiles a little tiredly. “I ended up dead,” she says. “But he ended up happy, even if he forgot me.”

Anya takes a moment to digest this, and then, “Yes, but what if it’s something that’s not _really_ that scary and isn’t _actually_ going to lead to your demise?”

“Is it scary for him?” the ghost replies.

“It _shouldn’t_ be,” says Anya sulkily.

“Maybe not for you, but maybe it—”

“Xander isn’t telling anyone that we’re engaged,” Anya blurts out. “He hasn’t said a thing about it to anyone, and he’s not letting _me_ tell anyone, and it’s been _months,_ and he keeps on saying crap about waiting for the right moment, and I just want to _tell_ everyone, but he doesn’t, and it’s not—”

“Anya,” says the ghost, and reaches out to her.

“It’s not _fair,_ ” Anya half-sobs. She leans into the ghost’s touch. She can almost feel the pressure of a cool hand on her shoulder. “Am I not good enough for him? Is he ashamed of me?”

“You know what, he’s kind of being an idiot,” says the ghost. “I amend that—he is _definitely_ being an idiot. Have you tried talking to him about it?”

“I have! And—and he just keeps on saying things about how he wants all the steps to be just the right amount, and then we start kissing, and it’s just a mess.” Anya takes a shuddering breath and manages not to cry. It’s an effort. “Was your boyfriend like this?”

The ghost smiles a little wryly. “No,” she says. “He was fairly straightforward when it came to our relationship. It was mostly me that was the problem.” She squeezes Anya’s shoulder. “The thing is, that’s not the case here, okay? Whatever’s going on here is Xander’s responsibility to figure out.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Anya asks, voice wobbling.

“Then you move on,” says the ghost. “Which I _know_ is so hard to do after falling in love. It’s what kept me here in the first place. Love is a pretty damn powerful force, but so are you. You survived without him before, right?”

“I was a monster before him,” says Anya. “I was nothing.” She looks up at the ghost, unsure of how much she wants to divulge.

“I know,” says the ghost.

“You don’t,” Anya dismisses her.

“I do.” The ghost smiles a little tiredly. “I think we both know Cordelia, right? Cordelia Chase? The last girl you granted a wish to?”

Anya’s breath freezes in her throat as she stares at the ghost.

“Anyanka,” says the ghost. There’s no loathing or anger in the way she says the name. “But you’ve changed.”

“Because of Xander,” Anya insists. “Because I fell in love. I was human, and then I was in love. I haven’t been human without knowing Xander, and I,” her voice catches. “I don’t know if I _can_ be.”

The ghost considers this. Then she says, “Whether or not he leaves, I’ll still be here. Will that be good?”

Anya thinks about this. She imagines a life without Xander. She imagines the ghost, who probably came to the shop for a whole other reason, sticking around and helping her and maybe helping a little with running the shop. “It’ll be good,” she says.

* * *

 

She brings the engagement up to Xander at dinnertime and they have another conversation that goes nowhere and she heads back to the Magic Box and just cries for a few hours. The ghost sits with her and doesn’t say anything. There’s something strangely comforting about that, especially since her house with Xander is always full of chatter. Sometimes it’s him, sometimes it’s her, sometimes it’s them arguing. Anya is learning to like silence.

When Xander shows up with the rest of the Scoobies, they have another conversation like that, except this time it’s in front of the ghost (who is tactfully pretending not to listen) and Tara and Dawn (who actually can’t hear them, being that they’re on the other side of the room). And then they start talking about the demon that attacked Buffy at the bank.

Everyone’s talking and Anya is only half paying attention because the ghost has started acting antsy. She’s fidgeting in her chair and playing with the sleeves of her shirt and fussing with her silvery hair. Her nervousness is the most tangible thing about her.

“You okay?” she asks the ghost.

“Fine,” the ghost replies breathlessly. “Excuse me.” She gets up, knocking over a chair. The rest of the Scoobies jump.

“Just the ghost,” says Anya.

“Does the ghost have a name?” Xander asks.

“Yeah, it’s getting a little bit weird to hear her called _the ghost_ all the time,” Dawn adds.

“They do have a point,” says Anya, and turns to the ghost. “So what _is_ your name?”

“I have to go,” says the ghost, and runs down into the basement. Anya watches with bemusement, debating whether or not to hurry after her.

“What’s her name?” Willow asks with interest.

“I don’t know,” says Anya. “She’s been all nervous since the meeting started, and when I asked her name, she ran away.”

“Maybe she’s feeling shy,” Tara contributes, a sympathetic look on her face. Fear spikes in Anya. She doesn’t want the ghost to like Tara better than her. Everyone likes Tara better than her. If Tara could see the ghost, the ghost would probably like Tara better than her.

“Give me a minute,” she says, and hurries into the basement after the ghost.

The ghost is sitting on a crate.

“Are you okay?” Anya asks, and finds that she genuinely wants to know.

Wordlessly, the ghost shakes her head.

“Can I stay?” Anya asks, sitting down on the crate next to the ghost. The ghost stares straight ahead, an almost carefully crafted blank expression on her face. Anya decides to take that as a yes. “I get the sense you aren’t big on sharing,” she comments.

The ghost nods slowly. “Not especially,” she replies.

“Neither am I,” says Anya. “Not the important things.”

“Maybe it just depends on the people,” says the ghost. She turns to Anya. “Jenny,” she says.

“Huh?” says Anya.

“My name.” The ghost kind of smiles. “It’s Jenny.”

“Oh!” Anya smiles back, delighted. “Well, then, nice to meet you, Jenny,” she says.

She sticks out her hand. Jenny takes it. Anya ignores the chill and the strange feeling of there _almost_ being a hand clasped in hers, shaking Jenny’s hand instead.

Jenny is the one to break the handshake, tucking a stray lock of ghostly hair behind her ear. “Well. Wow. I’m sorry for running out like that,” she says. “I’ve been feeling a little tense ever since the meeting started. I’m not sure why.”

“It’s fine,” Anya replies dismissively. “Scooby meetings are always tense. You never know who’s going to—”

Dawn comes running down the basement steps, eyes alight, a big grin on her face. “Anya, Giles is back!” she blurts out. “He’s back!”

“What?” says Anya, feeling a strange mixture of indignation and a surprising delight. “Oh! He can’t take the shop back. He signed papers. I made sure.”

“No, he’s here to see Buffy!” Dawn explains excitedly. “Come on, you and the ghost should come up and say hi!”

Anya glances over at Jenny, who for some reason has become even paler than she would have believed possible of a ghost. “I’m guessing you’re not that into meeting him,” she says, feeling proud of herself for being able to read Jenny well enough to know this.

“No, not really,” says Jenny, and smiles. It looks forced. “I didn’t—you said he was in England.”

“He’s back now, apparently,” Anya replies. “Would you like to meet him?”

“I’m okay,” says Jenny. “I’ll stay down here.”

Anya hurries upstairs. Giles is in the training room, apparently, talking to Buffy or something. She’s tempted to go back down into the basement with Jenny, but Xander pulls her over and suddenly they’re talking demons again.

Giles comes out about five minutes later, and Anya’s heart leaps. She’s missed him. As nice as it is being a shop proprietor, it was even nicer when she had company.

“Giles!” she half-shouts, running over to him and tackling him in a tight hug. He makes a small _oof_ sound, but hugs her back. “We're so glad to see you. We missed you.” She pulls away slightly to look at him. “You can't have the store back,” she informs him seriously.

“I know,” Giles agrees.

“You signed papers,” Anya adds.

“I did,” says Giles. And then he starts to say something else, but Dawn calls, “Anya, where’s the ghost?”

“Ghost?” says Giles, bemused.

Anya steps away from him. “Yeah,” she says conversationally. “The ghost. She’s been haunting the Magic Box for a few weeks and bothering me about getting better wifi because apparently I’m the only one who can see her.”

“Better wifi?” Giles repeats.

“Seems like a pretty petty thing to haunt a magic shop over,” Xander says, sounding amused.

“She’s not—” Anya flares up in defense before she remembers that none of them really know Jenny aside from what she’s told them. “Okay,” she says. “My point is that there’s a ghost in the Magic Box. But she’s a good ghost, so it’s fine.”

“She might be a little shy,” Tara adds.

“Is she—can I see her?” Giles asks curiously.

“She’s not really into meeting you,” Anya explains, thinking of Jenny, pale, sitting on the crate. “I’m not sure why. I think she’s nervous.”

“Of course,” says Giles. He doesn’t sound like he understands, but he also doesn’t sound like he wants to press the subject, which is dropped as everyone goes back to talking about demons.

* * *

 

Giles is pretty preoccupied, and therefore doesn’t seem all that interested in finding out about the ghost that’s haunting his shop. Once Jenny picks up on this, she seems more at ease, and Anya would definitely ask her about it if not for the fact that Jenny still looks nervous every time Giles so much as looks in her direction. Whatever’s going on with her, it seems deeply personal, and Anya’s learned from her years as a human that it isn’t wise to pry.

It’s a little weird to talk to Jenny while Giles is going through inventory, or sweeping the shop, but Anya’s getting used to keeping her voice low. Giles seems to be pretty good at tuning out conversations anyway. Probably all that practice with the Scoobies when they were in high school.

“I was talking to Xander today,” Anya says. Then, considering her words, “Is it boring that I never talk to you about anything but Xander?”

“Not really,” Jenny replies. “It’s better than listening to the sound of Rupert cleaning the place up.”

“Rupert?” Anya repeats.

To her surprise, Giles turns from where he’s been sorting through some of the spellbooks. “Yes?” he says.

Anya looks between Giles (looking at her expectantly) and Jenny (who looks like she’s suddenly made a very big mistake) and frowns slightly. “No, I was just talking to the ghost,” she explains, and for some reason, Jenny goes even more pale. Hastily, Anya amends, “About nothing! I just, um, what’s up?”

“You said my name,” says Giles bemusedly.

“Oh! Yeah—” Anya glances over at Jenny, who seems to be trying to back away from the two of them. “I was wondering if you could see the ghost too. At all. Or hear her, or something.”

“Ah.” Giles still looks a bit confused. “Well, then, my answer continues to be no. My apologies to the ghost.”

“All right,” Anya agrees, and very pointedly motions for Jenny to follow her downstairs into the basement. Jenny doesn’t look very much like she wants to, but Anya glares at her, and she finally seems to give in when Anya’s halfway down the steps.

As soon as they’re down there, Anya turns to Jenny. Screw not prying. “Why are you so nervous around Giles? And why did you call him Rupert? _I_ didn’t even know his name was Rupert.”

“Um,” says Jenny awkwardly. “That’s—I really shouldn’t say.”

“Who told you that you shouldn’t say?” Anya demands in a whisper. “You’re _dead._ You make the rules.”

Jenny presses her lips together and nods. “Honesty would have served me well when I was living, I guess,” she says. “Even if it would have been painful to speak the truth.” She looks at Anya, eyes oddly bright. “I was in love with him,” she said. “Rupert. I guess everyone just calls him _Giles_ now that I’m gone.”

“I think Mrs. Summers called him _Rupert_ sometimes, but it was more of a friend thing,” says Anya. She hesitates, not sure if she should push the subject, but the question comes out before she can stop it. “Did he love you back?”

Jenny looks down at her hands. “I never had the chance to know,” she says quietly.

Anya looks at Jenny’s face, the tired resignation in her eyes the most solid thing about her, and says, “But you still love him now.” This isn’t a question.

Jenny smiles sadly. “Yes,” she says.

“And you stay because you miss him.”

“Pretty much.”

“Well, then—why can’t he see you?” This is what’s puzzled Anya the most. “Why can’t anyone else see you, for that matter, if you knew them more than you knew me?”

“If I really don’t want someone to see me, they won’t see me,” Jenny explains. “What keeps me here is my desire to stay. It’s a delicate balance.”

Anya frowns. “But if you don’t have a reason to stay, other than watching over Giles, then why wouldn’t you want him to see you?” Her head’s starting to hurt from trying to figure all this out. “You never told me how you got here,” she says finally.

Jenny nods. She looks up again. “The Powers gave me a second chance,” she says. “But it’s something of a weighted one. I’ll be brought back to life for good when I have a reason to be, and it can’t be a selfish reason.” She laughs a little self-deprecatingly. “As it happens,” she says, “wanting to be with Rupert constitutes a _selfish reason_ in their eyes.”

“So if he sees you—”

“We get about two seconds before I go back into the great beyond,” Jenny replies. She doesn’t sound all that happy about it. “I fought hard to be here, and they gave me a few minutes to find some kind of reason to stay, even if it was a small one.”

“And—” Suddenly it all _clicks_ with Anya. “Oh,” she says, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. 

“Yeah.” Jenny twists her hands. “I—saw you at the Magic Box counter, and you looked tired, so I wanted to help you. And it was small, and unselfish, so I’m here in the smallest way I can be.”

“But it’s not enough,” says Anya. She edits her words. “ _I’m_ not enough.”

“ _No_ ,” Jenny says vehemently. “You’re _more_ than enough, Anya. It’s just that my reason has to be something on a long-term basis, not just someone I glance at and casually want to help out a little.” She looks over her shoulder, up the stairs. Anya sees Giles behind the counter. “And he can’t know about any of this,” she says.

“Was that one of the conditions?”

“My least favorite one.” Jenny sits down on one of the cardboard boxes.

Anya hesitates. “I can help,” she says. “If you want. I—don’t know much about saving people. More about hurting them, usually, but maybe that could be a starting place. Just do the opposite of whatever I say. Or something.”

Jenny laughs out loud. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she agrees gamely.

* * *

 

Anya throws herself into research. She can’t tell Giles what she’s up to, but she knows he’s curious, so she brushes him off by saying it’s none of his business and she’s the one who owns the shop anyway, so can’t she look at the books she wants to look at? And it’s _weird_ that she never figured out that Jenny’s in love with Giles, because now that she’s actually looking, she sees the way Jenny’s eyes sparkle with affection when Giles huffs and mutters mutinously about how he should never have hired Anya as an assistant if she isn’t going to be honest with him.

Jenny has a new kind of happy hope in her smile, now, and it makes Anya feel happy too, because she knows that the reason Jenny’s happy is because of her. It’s strange to be the cause of someone’s smile just by being all the way herself.

“Ooh, hey!” Anya calls, and Jenny (who’s been standing next to Giles and watching him do paperwork) looks up with a pleased grin at the sound of her voice. “I found a thing! I—can you come over here?”

“Is this at me or at the ghost?” says Giles somewhat irritably.

“Ghost,” says Anya, and smiles at Jenny.

Jenny grins back. “Sorry, Rupert,” she says, even though he can’t hear her, and hurries over to sit next to Anya. “Whatcha got?”

“There are always hero quests,” Anya explains quietly, making sure Giles can’t hear her. “You know—go out and search for a magical object. Lots of tests and trials and things. If we thought of something _really_ rare and you went to find it, that could work, right? Especially since you’re technically dead already.”

“Hmm.” Jenny frowns. “The thing is, it would have to be something that would help other people, not just myself. I feel like even if we knew where it was located, it might be difficult to pinpoint a magical item that would do that, and if it’s already _lost…_ ” She trails off. “It just seems a little bit risky.”

“You’re probably right,” says Anya, and sighs. “I guess you maybe shouldn’t be taking advice on doing good things from an ex-vengeance demon, huh?”

Jenny’s frown dissipates and she reaches forward. Anya feels a ghostly touch, and realizes that Jenny’s tucked a strand of hair gently behind her ear. Almost maternal, which is weird, because Jenny’s _way_ younger than Anya is. Anya wants to ask if Jenny was ever a teacher, but she’s not sure how much she wants to press her. “You’re a good person,” Jenny says, “and you shouldn’t let your past define you. Sure, it _shaped_ you, but that doesn’t mean you have to comply with what you think it’s made you into.”

“You’re pretty optimistic,” says Anya ruefully.

“I died young,” says Jenny, and quirks a smile at her. “My optimism didn’t have enough time to get crushed.”

Anya’s opening her mouth to say something when Giles says, “Anya, perhaps you and the ghost can have a meaningful conversation _after_ business hours are over.”

“Don’t you dare tell me how to run my shop just because you wish _you_ could talk to Je—” Anya just barely manages to catch herself. “The ghost,” she says hastily.

Giles stops. His face changes ever so slightly. “I’m sorry,” he says carefully, “do you—what is this ghost’s name?”

“Um,” says Anya, and fumbles for the first excuse that comes to mind. “I call her—Jellybean. Sometimes. As a nickname. Which is stupid, so, you know, I just call her _the_ _ghost_ in passing.”

There had been a strange, hopeful light in Giles’s eyes, like he’d wanted something but didn’t dare put it into words, and at Anya’s explanation, it abruptly dissipates. “Ah,” he says. His voice now has a hard edge to it, but it’s shaking. “If you’ll—excuse me, please.” He hurries out of the shop, and Anya is stunned to catch a stifled sob as the front door shuts behind him.

Anya stands, and stares, a heavy, awful feeling in her chest, because she never seems to be able to do _anything_ right. This is the sort of thing that Xander gets mad at her over, when she really just didn’t _think,_ and now she’ll turn and that proud, glowing smile on Jenny’s face won’t ever be for her again.

But Jenny’s got a soft look in her eyes, and Anya follows her line of vision out the door. “I—” Her voice breaks. “I think he wanted it to be me.”

“I’m sorry,” says Anya, looking down. “I didn’t mean to—”

Jenny shakes her head. A new smile is spreading over her face, one that’s almost blinding in the hope it contains. “I didn’t know—that he remembered me,” she says. “I never—” She seems almost speechless.

“You’re quite memorable,” says Anya reassuringly, and pats Jenny’s hand. Or tries to. Her hand passes through Jenny’s. But Jenny turns her head and smiles at Anya and that’s really what counts.

* * *

 

Jenny hangs around the Magic Box, mostly, so she’s not there when Anya and Giles are out on patrol. They’re in a graveyard Anya doesn’t usually frequent when Giles suddenly stops, eyes fixed on a tombstone that doesn’t look quite as old as the other ones around it. Anya stops too, and feels her breath catch in her throat. The tombstone reads _JENNIFER CALENDAR_ in large bronze lettering.

“What is it?” she says, even though she already knows. Her voice comes out unusually trembly instead of the casual nonchalance she’s all but perfected.

Giles smiles. There’s a sadness to it. “A story for another day, I think,” he says simply.

It’s more for Jenny than for herself that Anya asks, “Were you in love with her?”

Giles’s smile fades and he looks down, and at first Anya feels this irrational, frustrating anger rising in her, because Jenny’s sweet and smart and probably way out of Giles’s league anyway, but then Giles says, “I think I still am.”

Anya feels herself grin widely. Giles gives her a strange, perturbed look and she quickly schools her expression into something more sympathetic. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she says, trying to make it sound like she _is._ After all, it’s not like Giles knows that Jenny’s death isn’t going to be a loss at all, not if Anya and Jenny play their cards right. “How—what happened to her?”

Giles hesitates, then, “She was killed by a vampire.”

Suddenly, Anya finds herself wondering more about Jenny than just what her hair color is. Really, Jenny doesn’t much talk about herself at all. And Anya feels weird about bringing it up with Jenny, because she knows how bad she is at sensitivity and she doesn’t just want to flat-out ask how Jenny died and maybe lose her only real friend, so she asks carefully, “But he didn’t turn her or anything? That seems a little weird.”

Giles looks at her strangely, and Anya thinks she sees that little flicker of hope in his eyes again. Maybe that’s why he’s telling her all this in the first place. _Smart guy,_ she thinks. “She was working to resoul Angelus,” he says, “and Angelus found out, and killed her so that we wouldn’t find out about the work she had done.”

“Oh,” says Anya. She feels a new level of respect for Jenny. Resouling rituals aren’t exactly a piece of cake, and most of them have been lost to the ages. Turns out her ghost friend is a much smarter cookie than she’s been letting on, and that’s saying quite a lot. “She sounds kind of amazing.”

“She was,” says Giles. He’s smiling a bit sadly. “I miss her very much.”

He gives her this little sideways look, then, as though he’s hoping Anya will tell him what he wants to hear without him having to ask it. And Anya _wants_ to, so badly, because now she knows how happy it would make both him and Jenny to be together. But she also knows that if Jenny has a selfish reason to stay before she finds her unselfish reason, then Jenny’s gone for good, so Anya says, “I’m really sorry about that, Giles,” and looks down at her hands, hoping hard that she’s not giving anything at all away.

She’s expecting that to be the end of the conversation, but then Giles says, “It’s strange. I was considering going back to England, but—”

Anya looks up. “But?”

“I can’t quite bring myself to leave the Magic Box,” Giles says awkwardly. “A-and I suspect Buffy needs me more than I know.”

Anya wonders if Giles can feel Jenny, even if he can’t see her. She thinks that knowing this might make Jenny really happy, but doesn’t know if it’s her place to tell. “Buffy really does need you,” she says. “The getting-ripped-out-of-heaven thing can’t exactly be a picnic, and Willow and Tara splitting up was super tense on her too, probably, so it’s good that you’re staying here.”

Giles half-smiles. “Yes,” he says vaguely. His eyes are still fixed on Jenny’s grave.

* * *

The problem with Jenny hanging around the Magic Box, which Anya figures out the next day, is that Giles hangs around the Magic Box too, so Anya can’t exactly talk to Jenny about Giles still being in love with her when Giles is taking inventory or reorganizing the stock. She does try and communicate with Jenny via significant looks at Giles, but Jenny gives her amusedly quizzical looks in return like she thinks this is some sort of game, which it _isn’t._ It’s all incredibly frustrating for Anya.

Anya eventually (reluctantly) decides to put aside the Giles stuff, because she really shouldn’t tell Jenny about it anyway, and it’s possible that Jenny might not believe her, so she decides to address an equally pressing matter. “The wedding’s in two weeks,” she tells Jenny, turning to her in the middle of a Scooby meeting, “and I’d like you to be my maid of honor.”

“Is this more ghost stuff?” Xander asks with bemusement before Jenny can answer. “Not that I’m _against_ you having a ghost bridesmaid, Ahn, but I feel like it could be a bit confusing.”

“Tell Xander I can wear a dress like nobody’s business,” says Jenny seriously.

“The ghost says that she can wear a dress like nobody’s business,” Anya informs Xander. “And I agree.”

“Yeah, well, how do we explain that to my non-demon relatives?” Xander replies, as though that’s the end of the discussion.

“You know what, Xander, Jen—” Anya just barely manages to catch herself. “—ybean is very important to me!” she finishes with conviction.

Buffy giggles. “Did you say _Jennybean?_ ” she says.

Anya doesn’t dare look at Giles. “I mean Jellybean,” she says. “I’m just a little muddled from all the wedding planning. Jellybean the ghost, who is a wonderful friend and who I want as my maid of honor.”

“You realize you can’t bring this up with my parents,” Xander says. “Can’t Jellybean the ghost just…I don’t know, wear an invisible dress or something?”

“Tell Xander I’m gonna haunt the hell out of his wedding if he doesn’t let you make decisions about what you want,” says Jenny, who suddenly looks very angry for a reason Anya only halfway understands.

“Jellybean says she’s going to—”

“Can you not say _Jellybean?_ ” says Xander. “It just makes this conversation weirder.”

Anya hesitates, then, “I’ll figure out a way to make her an invisible dress. Will that work?”

“Fine,” says Xander exasperatedly. “Sure. Just don’t talk to your invisible friend Jellybean in front of my parents and I think we’ll be good.”

Anya bites her lip to keep from saying that _it’s not Jellybean, it’s Jenny, and none of you know how many secrets I’m keeping just to keep her alive,_ and nods instead. The Scoobies go back to talking about the latest demonic threat, and she turns back to Jenny. “I’m _tired,_ ” she says, keeping her voice quiet so that only Jenny can hear. “I want you to be my maid of honor. If they knew who you were—”

Jenny blanches. “You know I can’t do that,” she says.

“But if they _knew_ —”

“Any of the kids find out and they’ll be furious at you, Anya,” says Jenny. “They’ll say that it wasn’t your secret to keep. Until they hear directly from me that this is what I wanted—until they _can_ hear things directly from me—please, please don’t tell them.”

“I don’t like compromising,” says Anya. “Or waiting. I don’t like either of those things at all.”

“I know,” says Jenny, and there’s a touch of sad fondness in her smile. “I want to figure this out as much as you do. More, possibly, since it’s my life that’s on the line,” she adds, her voice joking but her words serious.

Anya nods. “You’re very important to me, that’s all,” she says finally. Love and friendship are two things that are still a bit unusual to her as a human. Dispassionate anger was what fueled her as a vengeance demon, and it was what made her one of the best in the business.

Jenny smiles. Then she says, “I’d make myself alive again just for your wedding, if I could, but I’m not sure that counts as a _selfless act._ ”

“Well,” begins Anya uncertainly. And that’s when she gets her idea.

* * *

 

The thing about Anya’s plan is that no one can know every single piece of the puzzle. Jenny can’t know that she’s talking to Giles, Giles can’t know what she’s telling Xander, and Xander definitely, definitely can’t tell anyone what she’s just told him.

“ _Ms. Calendar_ is the ghost?” says Xander disbelievingly.

“Yes, but _please_ don’t tell anyone,” Anya says, a begging note in her voice that she might have been embarrassed by were the stakes not so high. “Please, Xander. If she knows that I told anyone it’s her, she’ll get really mad at me.”

“So you’re telling me,” says Xander slowly, “that you’ve been trying to resurrect Ms. Calendar and find some kind of a selfless act all by yourself? No help from the Scoobies?”

He sounds almost surprised, like he didn’t know she was capable of keeping such a big secret, and it angers Anya, but she shoves that anger to the side. Nothing’s more important than making sure Jenny’s okay. “Listen,” she says. “I’m only telling you this so you’ll agree to make her the maid of honor. We’re going to get her a nice dress, and treat her like a guest, and—”

“Ahn, just because I know what’s going on now doesn’t change the fact that you can’t have a ghost as your bridesmaid,” says Xander with an irritating note of placating patience in his voice. “That’s just not something that happens at a Harris wedding.”

“What about all of my demon relatives?” Anya demands. “What about a Jenkins wedding? We’re starting our _own_ family, Xander, and it doesn’t matter what yours thinks of me.”

“Not to you,” says Xander quietly.

Anya breathes out. Places a hand on Xander’s shoulder. Reminds herself that loving Xander is how she started to understand being a human. “I know,” she says. “I know you care. But Jenny’s life is on the line. This isn’t just about our wedding anymore, this is about my friend, and I don’t want her to have to be a lonely ghost who only lets herself talk to me.”

“Anya—”

“She misses Giles _so much._ And he misses her too. He took me to see her tombstone, you know, and I think he’s starting to guess that it’s her haunting his shop. Either that, or he just really, really wants it to be her. Maybe both.”

“We can’t—”

“We _can,_ ” says Anya with conviction. “And we _will._ I got a second chance, remember? I want to give that second chance to Jenny too.”

Xander sighs. Then he says, “Can we at least put something that isn’t Jellybean the Ghost on her wedding invitation?”

Anya kisses him.

* * *

“I’m sorry?”

“If a ghost showed herself to everyone at my wedding, that wouldn’t be a selfish reason on the ghost’s part, right?” Anya repeats. “If she made herself visible to everyone, even when she doesn’t want you to see her.”

“Me specifically, or just people besides you in general?” Giles asks in a strange way.

Anya isn’t sure whether she wants to kick him or grin at him, because his perception is pretty impressive but it’s also distracting from the more important question. “Just people in general,” she says. “If she’s afraid of what people will think of her, and afraid that she might disappear if she lets people see her for who she is, but she makes herself visible for the people at my wedding for _my_ sake, would that count as a selfless act?”

“I—suppose so.” Giles polishes his glasses. “I’m entirely unsure as to why you’re asking _me_ this, Anya. This seems like a fairly straightforward question.”

“Oh, you’ll understand later,” Anya replies easily. She can’t stop grinning. Things are finally, finally falling into place, even if Jenny doesn’t know it yet. 

* * *

 

Except then they hit a hitch, which is that Jenny flat-out refuses to let herself be seen. Anya begs, she pleads, she goes off on a tangent about maid-of-honor duties (because the thing about a selfless act is that you can’t let the person _know_ it’s a selfless act, you have to have them do it themselves), but Jenny just—won’t.

“It’s my life,” she says. There’s a sadness in her voice. “I’m sorry, Anya, but this is too much for you to ask of me.”

Anya knows how it must look to Jenny. Like she’s willing to put Jenny’s life at risk for the wedding. “I love you _so_ much,” she says, trying and trying to give Jenny some kind of hint. “And you won’t do this one thing for me?”

“No, I won’t risk my life to be your maid of honor,” says Jenny somewhat testily. “I think that’s a reasonable decision for me to make.”

Anya really, really hates the part of the selfless act where it has to be of the person’s own volition, because right now she wants to just blurt out what she’s trying to get Jenny to do and watch Jenny’s face light up in comprehension. She doesn’t want to start a fight two days before the wedding. “Just—” She sighs. “I want you there.”

“I know.” Jenny looks sympathetic and understanding, which is exasperating, because once again Anya’s got information that no one else has even considered might exist. It sucks when this time it’s Anya’s true-blue best friend who’s underestimating her. “And I _promise_ I’ll be there. I just can’t let the wedding guests see me.”

Anya swallows hard. This is fine. It really is. There are plenty more opportunities for a selfless act. It’s just that it seemed so _poetic,_ so perfect, to have Jenny come back to life on Anya’s wedding day. Anya had this secret little mental image of Giles and Jenny’s wonderful, passionate reunion, of Jenny and Anya both having a first dance on the same dance floor—Anya dancing with her husband for the first time, Jenny dancing _alive_ for the first time—of Jenny and Anya getting to share a happy day together.

It’ll be okay, though. Anya’s not giving up on Jenny. She smiles, and says, “I’m sorry. I guess the bridal planning’s been getting to me. Of _course_ I shouldn’t expect you to risk your life for my wedding.”

She turns it into a joke, ever so neatly— _silly Anya, what was I thinking?_ She’s gotten ever so good at that lately. Jenny’s face relaxes, but the thing is that she doesn’t join Anya in when it comes to laughing at her mistake, she just says that she knows Anya’s under a lot of pressure and she hopes the wedding will make things better.

Anya loves Jenny so much in that moment. And she _is_ glad that Jenny’s coming to her wedding, even if it’s not going to be the perfect fairytale ending for Jenny. It’s Anya’s perfect fairytale ending, too, and somewhere along the line she forgot about that.

* * *

 

Anya gets swept up in wedding planning and dress fittings and it’s a delightful kind of fun, even if when she’s putting on her gown her maid of honor is watching by the door instead of helping her put it on. Jenny can’t really do much with the helping, especially since Tara thought it was kind of creepy to watch Anya’s dress put itself on, so she’s kind of just relaxing by the door in her bridesmaid’s dress.

There had been a special ritual and everything just to get Jenny’s dress into the afterlife. It involved a lot of burning and praying, and it took nearly three hours, but it was worth it to see Jenny’s smile as she twirled in her new dress—Jenny hadn’t worn anything besides what she was now laughingly calling her “deathday suit” for a very long time. She’d even figured out a way to tie up her hair.

It’s gorgeous. It’s wonderful. It’s a beautiful day, even if it’s raining. Rain on a wedding is pretty, and it makes the indoors seem so much more lovely and cozy. Anya’s bubbling over with happy delight, and she looks a picture in her gown, everyone says so, and, 

* * *

 

 

and,

 

* * *

 

and Xander leaves.

 

* * *

And it’s only when Anya’s standing by herself in that hallway, the one that had seemed so perfect and beautiful, with a gash on her arm and a horrible, leaden feeling in her chest, that she feels a hand slip into hers.

“Come on,” says Jenny gently. “Come on, sweetie, we have to tell them.”

Anya looks up at her. There’s something different about Jenny that she isn’t completely able to register. Sort of a quiet kind of glow. “I can’t,” she says in a small, broken voice.

“Okay, then I’ll tell them,” says Jenny, sad and playful at the same time, as though trying to lighten the mood while knowing she really can't. Smart lady. “Come on.” She tugs on Anya’s hand. Anya almost starts crying at that. “Come on, Anya. You’re strong, and you look _so_ beautiful today. Come on.”

Anya shakes her head.

Jenny starts walking, and Anya follows, still in a little bit of a daze. She notices the quiet exclamations as they enter, sees Giles drop the glass of wine he’s holding with a resounding _crash._ Jenny grits her teeth, and her voice is shaking when she says, “I’m sorry to inform everyone that the wedding won’t be happening today.”

“Jenny?” says Giles. His voice is shaking. Suddenly, Anya realizes what Jenny’s done— _is_ doing, for _her_ —and she forgets for a moment about Xander, because no one has _ever_ done something like this. She’d never have thought Jenny would do something like this.

“Jenny, don’t—” she begins, some part of her afraid that this won’t be enough for the Powers. That she’ll lose Jenny too today, and she _can’t._

“Shh.” Jenny squeezes her arm. “Trying out the whole _courage_ thing.” She fixes her eyes on a stunned Willow. “If we could all just pack up the chairs?” she continues. “You know, fold them up and stuff? I really don’t want Anya to have to pay for all the damage done to this place. I think there are still some scorch marks on the floor.”

Jenny’s glowing more now. Golden and bright.

“No,” says Anya. There’s a desperation in her voice. “Jenny, please, please don’t—”

“I’m here for you,” says Jenny quietly, turning to Anya. She tucks Anya’s hair behind her ear in that same comforting way. “Always. And if those Powers think this is a selfish reason to stay, I’ll fight my way back down here so we can have tea and watch movies and cry about Xander, okay? You’re my best friend, and I want to be here for you.”

Anya just straight-up starts crying. It’s not the graceful kind of crying, either. This is tears and snot and it’s actually pretty gross. She falls forward a little into Jenny’s arms, and Jenny hugs her tightly, and that’s when it hits Anya that ghosts don’t generally hug people all that well.

She looks up, still crying. Jenny has hair the color of dark chocolate and eyes to match, and Anya thinks a little vaguely _oh, okay, that’s what she looks like_ before she goes back to crying again.

“Jenny,” Anya hears a voice say again, and now she’s doing her best to pull herself together, because this is the moment that she’s worked so hard for. If she can’t be happy, not in the way she wants, then she at least wants to see the look on Jenny’s face right now, so Anya finally pulls her head up and muffles her sobs with her hand. She steps away from Jenny.

“Anya—” says Jenny with some concern. She hasn’t yet noticed the way Giles is looking at her, like she’s the moon and the stars come down to earth just for him.

And Anya smiles.

* * *

 

D’Hoffryn comes to Anya a few days later, when Jenny and Giles are making cookies in Anya’s apartment and getting into a giggly argument about how much sugar is reasonable for baking. Giles is calling Jenny a heathen for not letting him put in five cups and Jenny’s telling him that that’s _no_ way to speak of the dead and Giles is saying well, she isn’t dead anymore, so he’s perfectly within reason to call her anything he wants, and Anya misses Xander like a hole in her chest but for the first time in her life, she feels like she’s some part of a weird little family.

She hears the knock at the door. “I’ll get it,” she says cheerfully. “You two crazy kids don’t burn the house down or anything.”

Giles looks lighter and happier than Anya’s ever seen him. “Certainly not,” he says, and his hand brushes against Jenny’s on the kitchen counter. Jenny ducks her head and smiles.

It’s D’Hoffryn at the door. “I’m so sorry to hear about Xander,” he begins.

“I’m not in the business anymore,” says Anya firmly, and shuts the door. Vengeance demons don't have time to finish baking cookies with their friends, and Anya the human wants to make sure Jenny doesn’t skimp on the sugar.


End file.
